


What Steve Did

by Vera



Category: The Bill
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 1998-01-01
Updated: 1998-01-01
Packaged: 2017-10-02 05:44:52
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,868
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3184
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Vera/pseuds/Vera
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Some things weren't meant to be easy.</p>
            </blockquote>





	What Steve Did

"Fuck you, Steve."

He glared at Steve, sprawled laughing on his bed.

"It wasn't funny. It was rank in the back of that Panda."

"But they let out."

"Eventually."

"At the club." Steve's voice lowered, "Come here."

Nick frowned, twitching his full mouth and stared stormily over Steve's head. He crossed his arms to complete the childish rejection.

"Nick." Steve stretched out a bare toe, it just reached Nick's thigh. He started inching it up towards Nick's groin. "C'mere, Nick," his voice a low, sexy purr.

"You bastard." Steve's foot had reached the soft bulge of Nick's groin and, half against his will, Nick pressed his hips forward. Steve's foot kneaded against him, the heel pressed between his thighs, the ball rolling across the hardening head of his dick.

"Fucking bastard." Nick's eyes closed as he thrust against the teasing foot. He didn't want to look down at Steve's smirking face, didn't want to see the triumph there. He heard a rustle of clothing being removed, zip lowering and the foot left his groin. He opened his eyes.

Steve wasn't smirking. His face was serious, his cheeks flushed and his eyes dark. His hands were pushing down his trousers and his gaze fixed on Nick. He paused waiting for Nick to speak.

"Go on then, get if off."

"You too."

"Yeah," Nick sighed and let his anger go, "me too."

Nick closed in on the bed as he undressed. By the time his jocks hit the floor, he was straddling Steve's thighs. Spread out before him, lean and tasty, Steve sprawled on the bedspread. Nick leaned over and tweaked the small dark nipples into hardness. His cock brushed against Steve's as he did and Steve arched into him and grabbed his hips.

"Not so fast, mate," Nick pushed him back down, grinning. This was the best time, when he'd given in, when Steve knew and felt free to let loose, when he could do almost what he liked with the older man because they'd remade their midnight pact of sweat and muscle and semen and there was no room for mistrust or holding back.

He ran his hands down Steve's ribs and over the convex stomach, tracing his finger around Steve's cock and balls like a body outline. He was answered with a groan and a thrust.

"C'mon Nick."

Steve hissed as the back of Nick's hand brushed his balls.

"Fur a second, Nick felt a pit of rejection open inside him, but Steve was turning to lie on his belly, head turned to one side. His eyes were closed. "In the cabinet. You'll find the stuff."

Unsteadily, he traced a hand down Steve's spine. It was long and the skin soft and pale, covered in fine gold hair. He cupped a hand around Steve's arse, slid his fingers down the crease between the cheeks, where it was hot and damp and musky.

"The top drawer," Steve reminded him, a little husky, a little desperate.

He reached over Steve to the cabinet, his cock rubbing against Steve, slipping on his pre-ejaculate, sending shivers through them both.

Steve's eyes squeezed shut and his hands reached out, paused and clenched. They dropped to his side.

A finger rubbed the slick spot into his skin, slipped under his hip and curled along his cock.

"Steve," an angel's deep voice lured him, "Steve, open your eyes."

He squeezed them more tightly shut and felt his lips thin into a harsh line.

"Look at me, please look at me?" Nick stroked his cheek, Steve turned his face into the pillow.

Traditionally, this was where he gave up cajoling Steve and fucked him. Gave up tenderness and buried soft hopes under sweat and blood and semen. He realised he was holding Steve's arse in a bruising grip and wondered, a fine and gleaming edge on his thoughts, how far Steve would let him go into pain and cruelty and denial.

He'd had more than enough of that. This time, this time he would make some thing different.

Swiftly, forcefully, to keep Steve unsuspecting, he shove his unresisting - friend - over so he lay on his back on the narrow bed. Steve tried to roll back on to his stomach, but Nick shoved him down hard, trapping him there, breath to breath, Steve's cock twitching against his balls. Not caring for the mess he made he squeezed lube onto himself with one hand, the other holding his full weight off Steve.

Steve's eyelids quivered but his eyes did not open.

He shifted and pushed Steve's legs up to raise his arse and pressed a sticky palm to the wall above Steve's shoulder. Gently, experimentally he moved his hips forward. His cock slipped against Steve's arse, then, a little harder thrust, and guided by his free hand, he watched as his cock slid into Steve, felt strong muscles try to force it out, squeeze it.

"Ha," Steve sobbed a short breath. His hand come up to Nick's chest, trying to push him away, but Nick, leaning down and across Steve's body, had all the leverage. Nick thrust forward again and sensation crawled over Steve's skin, curled into his belly and then he was thrusting back. Nick could see his face, could watch every thrust echoed in Steve's expression. Now he knew what Steve knew, could see what Steve felt.

"Steve, Steve, oh God, Steve."

Shut up, Steve thought, his body all pleasure and betrayal, please shut up. His cock was hardening again and when Nick reached down to stroke it, curl his hand around it, love it, it was too much, and he bit his lip, holding inside all that he could, every word and moan and every cry, and all the while his own semen spreading on Nick and on himself. Like a dying sun he expanded in hot pleasure and shrunk into cold ashes.

~~~~~~~~~~~~

Nick had discovered it was hard being new, being young and a probationer, being eager and proud. He grimaced at the memory of early mistakes.

He so wanted to be like them, tough and wise and unruffled. Some days he thought even the WPCs had more bottle than he did. He thought of the now Sergeant Ackland; some of them did.

He had noticed Steve early. Tall and handsome and, in some cool, clear way, completely cut off from everyone else. His gaydar rang wild carillons of discovery, but the man was obviously closeted. Some days Nick couldn't take his eyes off Steve. Sitting in a panda car with him was hell, but at least there he was saved from the temptation of dropping behind and ogling the slim Loxton arse.

At first he was surprised that there was no answering gleam of recognition when Steve looked at him. He briefly considered asking Steve out for a drink, but he was offered no encouragement. So, he gave up covert glances and skimming his personal space and folded his interest into occasional fantasy. There were plenty of other fish in the sea, eager for a taste of his boyish self. Nick forgot his unrequited passion, only its sweet memory brushing his mind when crowded pubs or wrestling villains to the ground brought them into close proximity. At those times, it was as if a curtain had been drawn back, letting light into a dark room. Steve always smelled warm and fresh, like bread and grass, so out of place in the cold city, so out of place in himself.

Life in the Met settled down, he stopped making idiot mistakes, started making arrests and only had a few brushes with exposure. Those dykes pegged him, the ones with the harassing phone calls. He was only glad he didn't blush when that girl called he and Boynton, Starsky and Hutch. Who'd have thought she'd remember him from that 70's theme party at Liam's, where he and a tall, blonde boy had gone as the American cops. Fortunately a pair of big brown eyes, a pretence of ignorance, and possibly Boynton's unimaginative thuggery, had the Sergeant off the scent before he'd noticed there was one to follow.

It was murder that started it, started them.

Steve was first on the scene. He frowned and tried not to step in the blood as he checked for a pulse. The boy was obviously dead. Nick recognised him, it was clear in his horrified face for all the world to see. He went to touch the tangled, bloody hair, to brush it of the face he had kissed not so long ago at all, though only once.

Steve grabbed his arms and dragged him back. "Pull yourself together," he ordered, harsh and low, "anyone who sees you will know." He turned to his radio.

Nick couldn't stop looking at the dead the body. He couldn't remember his name. Peter or John or Michael, it could have been anything. Nick could remember his warm body, his hard cock deep in Nick, the sound of his breathing and the sharp cry when he came. He remembered lying in damp, tangled sheets and having to leave, to get back to the section house in time to change for shift. He remembered a bounce in his step all day, a whole body feeling of being well fucked. What was his name?

"Nick. Nick!" Steve grabbed his arm, "don't look, for fuck's sake." Beyond Nick a small crowd of people were gathering in the alley mouth. "Go and keep those people away. Go and ask them if they saw anything."

Nick turned and shook off Steve's arm and stumbled towards the crowd. The rest of the day was a nightmare of trying to do the job of investigating the murder while trying to forget that someone had been murdered. He asked questions, but did not want to hear the answers. The boy's sweet face haunted him, kept being overlaid by the head of the bloodied corpse they'd found. If it wasn't for Steve, stern and cold beside him, he would have thrown up, or cried out, or something. Anything to take away the feeling that he'd fucked a corpse.

Back at the station, his sick horror must have been obvious. Sergeant Cryer had noticed and had pulled him aside quietly.

"Are you ok, Nick?"

Pain made him incautious. "I knew the victim, Sarge."

"Did you know him well? Was he a friend."

"No, just someone I'd met once."

"Nick, if you need to talk, I'm here."

"It's ok, Sarge, I'm ok."

"Have a tea break before you go back out." Cryer's expression was paternal and kind. Nick wondered if he'd be so understanding if he knew how very well Nick knew the deceased.

Somehow, he got through the rest of the day. He couldn't stop thinking about mortality, about a boy who'd never fuck again.

In the locker room, at the end of shift, Steve's words came back to him. "Pull yourself together. Anyone who sees you will know." Know that he knew the victim or know that he'd fucked him? How had Steve known? Did his face broadcast it? He thought he'd been altogether more circumspect with his life.

Steve had finished changing, was just about to leave when Nick stopped him.

"I want you," layers of meaning folded in Nick's heart, "to come and have a beer with me."

Cool eyes watched him as his request was considered.

"Yes, alright."

There were no words as Steve waited for him to finish changing. No words as Nick drove them to a pub other than the shift's local. No words between them as Nick ordered for them and led Steve to an table.

"Did you know him, too?" Nick asked at last. Steve wouldn't look at him, he was concentrating on twisting his pint glass round and round.

Nick covered his hands to make sure he had Steve's whole attention.

"Did you know him?" he insisted.

Steve looked at him then. "Yes."

"Was he..." Nick wasn't sure if he could bring himself to ask the question. "Was he a... Did you?"   
Adrenalin fired courage had carried him this far but now it was draining away, sucked out of him by a pair of North Sea eyes. He couldn't name everything he felt, he wasn't even sure what he was thinking. Long ignored desires were sparkling in the night that had fallen on his brain. Warm currents swelled though a wild sea. Steve, the untouchable, the unapproachable, had confessed humanity, desire, connection. Condensation from the glass Steve was holding had dribbled between their hands.

A small voice told him that two PCs shouldn't be holding hands in a public bar. Nick let go, pulled back, for a second it looked like Steve's hand was going to follow is across the table. Then he stopped, the shutters lowering.

Nick wasn't having any of that. "If I drive you home, will you ask me to come in?"

It might have been a smile, it might not. "Take me home and find out."

They were scarcely through the front door of Steve's flat when Nick started stripping. Steve leaned against the wall watching him. When Nick look up, Steve pulled his shirt off. Holding eye contact, the only sounds in the room where breathing and the clichéd rasp of a zipper being undone.

Pushing his jeans off and stepping out of them, Steve turned against the wall, bracing himself, he looked over his shoulder at Nick.

"Where are the condoms?" Nick asked, reaching out to run his hand down Steve's back.

"Don't bother with them, just fuck me."

"If you don't have any, we can do something else."

"No, I want you to fuck me, I don't care about fucking condoms."

"I'm not fucking without condoms. Jesus, Steve, are you insane?"

Steve turned and pushed him hard against the door. He dropped to the floor in front of Nick. Between one breath and the next his pants were down around his ankles and Steve's lips, those thin fascinating lips, were wrapped around his cock, sending delight and terror in sparkling circuits of his body. He pushed back against the door, holding his trembling knees straight. Steve held Nick's hip with one hand, with the other he was jerking himself off. He was ravenous, he was devouring, he was growling around Nick's cock.

Nick thought, "My cock is down Steve Loxton's throat." He felt Steve's come splash on his legs and lost control completely, thrusting and coming and trembling and crying out, "Steve, oh God, Steve, yes."

Then Steve was gone, standing and wiping his mouth and walking away.

"Steve?"

Steve paused on his way out of the room but didn't turn around. "Let yourself out," he said, "don't forget condoms next time."

And so it went. Nick would ask Steve out for a drink. If the answer was yes, he'd offer Steve a lift home. If it was yes again, then the compact was made.

It was the only acknowledgement. Nick wondered what is was about him that Steve liked for no soft words were ever spoken. There was never any sign that Steve wanted him, wanted Nick. Just his cock up Steve's arse and his hands, rough and strong. He wouldn't let Nick suck him, though he was eager enough to go down. He'd kiss too, but only devouring kisses, only bites that mark and sting. There was no tenderness in him.

Nick started to wonder if he was doing himself a favour by letting it happen the way it did. If Steve went on too long, refusing his invitations, he'd go out and find someone else, some sweet, cuddlesome man who'd rain kisses on his cheeks and curl fingers ick me."

Nick's eyes sparkled, dark and promising. "Ok." He moved his body down the bed and bent his face to Steve's thighs, the thick cock standing straight along Steve's belly, vein pulsing. He traced his tongue along the path his fingers had taken earlier, making a line around the cock and balls, curling his tongue into Steve's pubic hair, breathing in hot skin and sweat. It made his heart pound and his own cock stiffen. He couldn't believe, still couldn't really believe he was allowed to do this, and more. Take Steve's sweet cock between his lips, make Steve moan and call his name, Steve's hands in his hair. Nick held Steve's hips down as he started getting close, thrusting without control, and whispering, "yes, fuck yes, suck me Nick, yes, God, yes, ahhhh."

He swallowed, then held still as Steve shuddered into quiet. He moved up, lying on top, nuzzling Steve's neck. His hard cock nestled against Steve's replete one.

Steve's arms tightened around Nick. He blinked and wet his lips and pushed Nick off. Fon his hair. Someone who'd look at him when they fucked and say afterwards, "That was fantastic, Nick".

But much as it soothed some small craving in his soul, it didn't satisfy the raging hunger for Steve Loxton. He dreamed that one day, one lazy day, Steve would offer some soft caress, some sign of, Nick wasn't sure what he wanted to admit to, so he'd stop his thoughts there. Maybe, someday, Steve would be nice to him.


End file.
